


In a sky full of stars, be my Northern lights

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Date, Fluff, Larry Abroad Fic Challenge, M/M, Nature, No Angst, Northern Lights, Norway (Country), Schmoop, Strangers to Lovers, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, World Travel, bed sharing, scenery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: It's one of those nights there's nothing on the telly that Louis absently scrolls through Tinder. After swiping left on a bunch of profiles he comes face to face with a picture that stops him in his tracks. The picture is..almost sweet. It’s a boy with brown curly hair, wearing a very low cut yellow blouse, paired with a black jacket. He’s got a smile on his face and his tongue sticking out, but it’s not in any way lewd or suggestive. He just looks like he’s having a good time, and something about the innocence of it has him swiping right rather than left.He’s barely checked the other pictures on the boy's profile before Tinder confirms that he’s got a match. The shots are so different from the pictures Louis is used to on Tinder - half naked boys who are smoldering at the camera - that he can’t help but smile.It quickly turns into a frown when he opens up the message he’s just received.Harry: Hello!Harry: Thank you for swiping rightHarry: I have a proposition for you





	In a sky full of stars, be my Northern lights

Louis would like to say that he isn’t the type of guy to frequent dating apps. Call him old fashioned but he prefers meeting people in bars or through mutual friends, rather than spend his time swiping left or right or reading through profiles that are either bare or seem a little too polished to be true. It’s not that he hasn’t tried, but where he’s quickly realized Tinder is more for hook-ups than dating (which is fine in its own right, he’s not going to pretend he’s never used it as such before), he hasn’t had much luck with any of the other apps or sites. Maybe it’s because he refuses to pay money for it, so he’s had to sift through fake profiles, catfishes (he honestly doubts Shawn Mendes is actually on PlentyOfFish, much as Niall would enjoy that) and people who seem promising but end up barely saying more than hello. And then there’s the ones that simply don’t care to check more than his pictures and message Louis despite them not having anything in common or clearly being out of the parameters Louis has listed in his profile. It’s tiring, and Louis honestly doesn’t like the person he becomes when he spends his time on those sites, because inevitably he starts rejecting people who might be really nice, and it’s just, it’s _shallow_.

But once in a while he finds himself on those sites nonetheless, when he’s lonely or when he’s bored (though the two seem to go hand in hand quite often), when that yearning of _wouldn’t it be nice_ becomes too much to ignore. He usually only lasts a day or two before he gets bored and stops answering messages, starts wondering if he’s really that desperate to try and force a connection with someone when he’s just not feeling it.

It’s not that he’s lacking in options. Not meaning to sound conceited, but Louis does pretty well for himself on those sites. And it’s certainly flattering to see the messages pop up in his inbox. But even on other apps than Tinder the focus seems to be on hooking up, or at least on validating each other’s appearance. Louis just wants _more_ , is all. A genuine connection. He doubts he’ll find it on some online platform though.

But he also hasn’t found it in his day to day life, so, what’s a boy to do?

It’s one of those nights where nothing on the telly holds his interest that he absently scrolls through Tinder. He’s not really looking for someone to hook up with, but he’s not had any new matches on PlentyOfFish and it’s something to do, at least. None of the photos or profiles really catch his interest, and he’s swiped left on at least a dozen profiles when a new one pops up that stops him from automatically swiping left. 

The picture is..almost sweet. It’s a boy with brown curly hair, wearing a very low cut yellow blouse, paired with a black jacket. He’s got a smile on his face and his tongue sticking out, but it’s not in any way lewd or suggestive. He just looks like he’s having a good time, and something about the innocence of it has him swiping right rather than left. 

He’s barely gone three seconds before Tinder confirms that he’s got a match. Louis feels a bit unsure, never knows if he should message straight away or if that might come across as a bit too keen. He opts to scroll through the boy’s profile instead. There’s two more pictures on it, one of the boy in a field of flowers, and another where he’s dressed up as Elton John. They’re so different from the pictures Louis is used to on Tinder - half naked boys who are smoldering at the camera - that he can’t help but smile.

It quickly turns into a frown when he opens up the message he’s just received.

_Harry: Hello!_

_Harry: Thank you for swiping right_

_Harry: I have a proposition for you_

Louis sighs.

_Louis: Sorry mate, I’m not really looking for a hookup right now_

A proposition. Louis can only imagine what that would be. He refuses to admit that he's just a little disappointed that this kid, who looked so sweet in his profile picture, would turn out to be yet another one of those guys who was only interested in one thing. It’s almost enough to make him put down his phone, but there’s still nothing of interest on the telly, so he might as well keep going. Besides, Harry (23, 5 miles away) is probably not going to respond to Louis’ blatant dismissal.

_Harry: I didn’t mean it like that, I swear!_

_Harry: shit_

_Harry: sorry :(_

_Harry: I’m not looking for a hookup either_

_Harry: Louis?_

He keeps getting messages from this Harry, and as much as Louis doesn’t want another dick pic that is meant to convince him to go for some no strings attached sex, he has always been too curious for his own good. As such, he is pleasantly surprised (albeit still wary) at what he ends up seeing.

And intrigued. Definitely intrigued.

_Louis: ok..._

_Louis: Then what is your proposition?_

Harry’s reply doesn’t come straight away, so Louis goes back to his pictures. He wonders what Harry’s life is like. What his personality is like, because his bio is frustratingly bare. He’s five miles away from Louis, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s maybe passed him on the street at some point. Not likely though, since he’s pretty sure he’d remember a face like that. He’s always had a weakness for dimples. Maybe Harry’s only passing through, not actually living in London like Louis is. Or maybe he is living here, studying something, or just started a job. Louis shouldn’t be so fascinated just because this guy looks cute and doesn’t immediately show him his dick. He’s been burned before.

_Harry: ok hear me out_

_Harry: how would you feel about dropping everything you’ve got going on this week to go on a crazy adventure together for 48 hours?_

_Harry: I’ll book us a ticket and let you know what to pack, and we’ll meet for the first time at the airport_

Louis blinks.

_Louis: you must be taking the piss_

_Louis: that, or you’re very drunk_

It’s only barely eight in the evening, but, he doesn’t know this guy. Maybe he’s an alcoholic. Or maybe he’s just crazy. Because who does that? Who invites a stranger to go on holiday with him for a first date? It’s insane. 

(He has to admire the balls on this guy. Metaphorical balls, for a change. It’s definitely a strange thing to suggest, and Louis has to admit that it’s intriguing, as well as just the littlest bit tempting. But he’s grown up with enough sisters to know that trusting someone you’ve only just met online is not the smartest thing to do.)

_Harry: I promise I’m not._

_Harry: I’d like to go somewhere I’ve never been before, and I’d like to go with you._

Louis fails not to find that endearing. Bites down on his lip to keep from smiling as he reads those words, then rereads them. There’s a part of him that’s saying _why not_ , he’s twenty five, has no commitments other than his job, and they won’t really mind if he takes a couple of days off. And if they do, well, he’s been thinking of quitting and finding something else. 

But _still_.

_Louis: I usually go to the pub for a first date, not halfway across the world_

_Harry: is that a no then?_

_Louis: ...let me think about it._

He’s mostly saying it to be polite. There’s no real way he’s ever going to agree to this. But Harry seems nice enough, and maybe Louis can figure out a way to get him to agree on meeting him in person someplace other than the airport.

*

His (briefly interrupted) boredom comes to an abrupt end when Stan shows up on his doorstep. Having met in primary school, the two had become fast friends and that had never stopped, even if their lives couldn’t be more different in some regards. Stan had settled down young, had known from when he was in highschool what he wanted to study and where. Louis had just sort of .. followed. He’d figured there was enough to do in London that he’d find his place somewhere, not to mention that the gay scene was definitely a lot more attractive and vibrant here than it had been in Doncaster. 

Even now, in his mid twenties, they still try and hang out at least a few times a month. Sometimes it’s just dinner, just the two of them, and sometimes it’s a group of friends, both from their childhoods and from their life in London. 

Most of the time it’s planned. But sometimes they just end up showing up on each other’s doorstep, and it’s an unspoken agreement that when that happens all other plans must be dropped. Because if they show up like that, unannounced, then it’s necessary.

Louis doesn’t know why Stan chose to show up but he doesn’t ask, just looks at him and grabs his jacket, figuring that wherever they’re going he’s probably not going to need to dress to impress.

He ends up in a cozy looking bar, with only a handful of patrons. It’s close to home though, and as it’s a weeknight Louis very much appreciates that it’s not packed with people who are trying to get as drunk as possible as fast as they can. He’s perfectly content to sit in a booth with his beer and his best friend and be there for him in any way that he can. 

It sort of requires Stan to tell him why he dragged him out tonight, but he knows his friend, knows that he’s never been the type to hold his tongue for long. One of the many reasons that Louis had liked him from the moment they met. 

“I’m thinking of proposing,” Stan tells him, between one swig of beer and the next. Louis stares at him for a moment, puts down his half empty glass.

“Congratulations.” He tells him. It’s soft and sincere. Stan and his girlfriend are a good match. _Solid_. A word he’d always associated with boredom, growing up, but that has started to sound better and better the older he’s getting. There’s nothing wrong with stability, not when it’s accompanied by these soft, loving looks, even eight years into their relationship. Honestly, it’s been a while coming, and Louis is sure that Stan’s girlfriend agrees. 

“I’m shitting bricks, mate,” Stan admits, and Louis almost wants to laugh because the thought of Stan being scared to propose to his girlfriend is borderline ridiculous. Louis knows she’ll say yes. _Stan_ knows she’ll say yes. The entire world probably bloody well knows. 

But he understands nonetheless. It’s a terrifying prospect, tying two lives together, laying yourself bare like that. Louis doesn’t believe in such nonsense as being ‘shackled’ or ‘tied down’, having the missus referred to as their ‘ball and chain’, because anyone who speaks that way about their spouse has no business getting married in the first place, but that doesn’t mean that the prospect of marriage isn’t scary. It’s a once in a lifetime commitment, ideally.

“I’ve never met anyone who fits with you the way Cassie does,” he tells him, smiling when Stan nods, going that special sweet kind of starry eyed that Louis would tease him about in any other circumstance. “And, you’re both fantastic people. You’re lucky to have found each other, and I know that this is going to be the right thing for you guys.” He really does adore both of them, even when he’d been a bit jealous at first, having to share his best friend with someone else. “It’ll be great, mate. You’ll end up with a fabulous wedding - and a flawless stag do, since I’m assuming I’m in charge - and then it’s smooth sailing for life. You’ll probably end up swarmed with babies by the time you’re thirty.” Louis has grown up with babies all his life, so he can’t imagine a much happier future if he’s honest. It’s awfully domestic, but in the best kind of way.

Stan smiles, lifts his beer as to toast to that, and Louis is happy to see that the tight set to his shoulders has all but disappeared.

*

A few hours later he’s having trouble keeping himself upright too, but he’s also feeling his jaw muscles ache from how much he’s been laughing tonight. Once the impending panic had been dealt with, they’d toasted to Stan’s upcoming nuptials (as presumptuous as that sounded, there is no doubt in Louis’ head that Cassie will say a very enthusiastic yes to Stan’s proposal), and a few hours in they’re still toasting to it. Or to different variations of it. First they’d toasted to the wedding, then to the bride, and subsequently to the groom, and eventually to the best man (a position Louis had quickly snatched for himself, of course), and then to - Louis isn’t sure. Maybe the flowers? 

It’s been a lot of toasts and a lot of alcohol, and it’s not until Stan asks about the best man’s plus one that Louis remembers the conversation he’d had earlier this night. 

“Oh!” He tells him, interrupting Stan’s very honest interest in his life. He grabs his phone and opens up Tinder, shows him the conversation with Harry. “The weirdest thing happened earlier. He’s a bit of a basket case, unfortunately. Look.” He tries not to get distracted by Harry’s profile picture (he’s even more handsome with beer goggles), just shows him the conversation.

_Harry: alright, I hope to hear from you xx_

_Harry: :)_

He hadn’t even read the last messages, does it now, even when he has trouble focusing a bit. There’s a feeling in his stomach that isn’t entirely pleasant, and he figures he’s probably due for a bathroom break soon, with the amount he’s been drinking. 

Stan, sweet adorable drunk Stan, is squinting at the phone, reading the messages, and Louis sighs. “He’s pretty. He’s _so_ pretty, but I - this is madness, right? I can’t just, like, up and leave. He could be a serial killer.”

“He’s probably not a serial killer.” Stan tells him, and Louis sighs again.

“He could be.” He probably isn’t, but he could be, and Louis would be very foolish to take his invitation and spend 48 hours with a complete stranger. No matter how pretty they are. “You’re the psychologist, mate, he’s clearly not all there, is he? Who would do such a thing?”

Stan chuckles. “You would.”

Louis considers taking offense to that statement, but he’s too tired and too drunk to come up with the perfect rebuttal. So he goes to the bathroom instead.

*

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and no less than twelve messages from Harry. It’s a bit much to deal with first thing in the morning, so Louis leaves his phone on his bedside table until he’s had a shower and some strong, black tea. He’s no idea why Harry has been messaging him, because their conversation had pretty much ended after Louis had more or less shot down his idea, but maybe he’d been trying to convince Louis one last time.

Or maybe he’d been drunk and looking for a hookup after all.

He’s also not completely convinced that he’s not going to wake up to several dick pics, so he keeps his eyes somewhat shielded as he opens up Tinder, fully prepared to block Harry or delete the app once he’s seen what’s been left in his inbox overnight.

_Harry: I’m so excited!_

_Harry: you have no idea_

_Harry: I’m going to get on this first thing in the morning_

_Harry: thank you so much!!!_

_Harry: I promise you won’t regret it!_

_Harry: I’ll be honest I wasn’t expecting you to say yes_

_Harry: but I’m very glad you did_

_Harry: ok I’m gonna stop messaging now before you’re regretting telling me yes haha_

_Harry: good night Louis see you soon xx_

_Harry: good morning!!_

_Harry: I’ve forwarded the information to your email_

_Harry: let me know if you’ve got it!_

Louis blinks.

What the _fuck_. 

He’s a second away from firing off a string of question marks at Harry when he scrolls up to the first messages Harry has left him last night, finding, to his complete and utter (lack of) surprise, a couple of messages he is quite sure he hasn’t sent him.

_Louis: I’ve thought about it and I’m in_

_Harry: ...are you serious???_

_Louis: dead. What info do you need? I’m guessing passport info and such?_

_Harry: Yeah. Passport, legal name etc, your email would be good too so I can send you the info_

_Harry: I promise I’ll only use it to book a ticket haha_

_Louis: You better haha. I’d hate to be taken for a fool. I never do this kinda thing._

_Harry: I promise I would never hurt you Louis_

Jesus Christ.

(He has to admit, however reluctantly, that Stan's ability to spell whilst drunk was rather impressive)

Louis’ head is pounding, and he can only hope that Stan’s is too. It’s why he doesn’t bother to tone down the sharpness and volume of his voice when he picks up on his call. “Stan!”

There’s a very satisfying whimper on the other side of the line. 

“Stanley Lucas. You _didn’t_.” Louis fumes. “Do you have any idea what kind of an idiot you are? You gave away my personal information - how did you even get that by the way - to some rando on the internet? Christ, and you’re supposed to be the smart one out of the two of us!”

Stan stays quiet for a moment, then sighs. “I took your passport out of your jacket when you went to the loo. I thought it’d be a good idea at the time,” he admits, sheepishly, and Louis groans. Of course he had. Drunk Stan always came up with the best ideas. He just never thought of the long term consequences, which was exactly why Louis had a long, jagged scar on his ankle. 

Not that he can completely blame Stan for all the bad ideas they’ve had over the years. But this? This is potentially very dangerous. If Harry’s not who he says he is (and honestly Louis has no idea _who_ he is) then he could end up with a case of stolen identity, and be in a lot of financial and legal trouble. “Fuck.” He curses, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall. 

“Sorry.” Stan says timidly. Then: “has he emailed you yet?”

Louis shakes his head despite the fact that Stan can’t see him. “I haven’t checked yet,” he tells him, even as he heads over towards the laptop in the living room. Maybe Harry hasn’t, even when he said that he had. Maybe there’s still a way to get out of this, and Louis is just going to have to be extra careful in case some unexpected things happen that might possibly mean someone is out there using his information. At least Stan hadn’t given him a copy of his passport, that’s about the only thing that could make this worse. He thinks. Louis isn’t sure what conmen do or don’t need in order to wreck someone’s life. He doesn’t say anything as he opens up his laptop and types in the password, waits for the page to load. “Fuck.” 

Inbetween e-mails from his mother and a newsletter from Doncaster Rovers, sits an email from a Harry Styles, simply titled “crazy adventure.”

“Shit.”

Stan makes a soft sound, and Louis hopes for Stan’s sake that it’s in agreement. “Where’s he taking you?”

There’s not actually a ticket attached to the e-mail, but there _is_ information in it about the date and time that he needs to be at the airport. Hopefully that means that Harry isn’t a conman who is going to take over Louis’ life. It doesn’t mean that he’s still not a lunatic though. “He’s not taking me anywhere, Stanley,” Louis tells him sternly, “because I’m not going to show up at the airport.”

There’s a moment of silence before Stan speaks up. “You know why I thought this was a good idea?” 

Louis snorts. “Because you were really fucking drunk?”

Stan has the audacity to laugh at that. “No. I mean, yes, that too, obviously. But. I thought, I mean obviously I now know that it wasn’t a great idea, and I never should’ve done it in the first place, but, I thought it would be a good idea because -” he pauses, his voice softening. “Because you’re lonely, Lou. I know you, and I know what you’re like. You’re lonely, and you want what me and Cass have, and you deserve to have something like that. And this guy - he’s everything you want. He’s so fucking pretty you couldn’t stop moaning about him for like, thirty minutes last night. And he’s spontaneous. You always say you want someone who surprises you. Who keeps you on your toes. What’s more surprising and spontaneous than someone taking you halfway round the world for your first date?”

Louis splutters. “If I’m going to get killed, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

*

He’s not going to lie. Half of the reason he’s even going to the airport is to prove Stan wrong. He’s fully expecting to be stood up, or to have Harry be someone completely different. Probably some fifty-eight year old perv, or a bored girl who had had nothing better to do. Yes, Tinder is attached to Facebook, but it’s not like people can’t make a fake Facebook account. Louis would know, he’s done it. 

Stan, of course, doesn’t buy his excuse, and only points to the fact that Louis has packed a bag, as per Harry’s instructions. Louis makes him carry said bag, because it’s only fair.

Harry had said to pack warm clothes, and while Louis’ closet is full of warm clothes he worries just how warm his clothes are supposed to be. Louis _hates_ being cold, so he might have overpacked for this relatively short trip. By a lot. Harry’s probably going to laugh at him. If he shows up.

“I’m insane,” Louis tells Stan, as he’s about to head into the airport. “This is insane. _You’re_ insane.” He desperately wants Stan to tell him that it’s not too late. 

“That’s ableist.” Stan says instead.

“You’re no help.”

Stan just shrugs, picks up Louis’ bag. “I’m coming in with you, yeah? If we don’t trust this guy, you can still back out. If you’re getting stood up you’re getting the pleasure of saying _I told you so_. If he’s not who he says he is, we can still leave.”

His words do calm Louis a little bit, and he takes a deep breath, nods. “Alright.”

“And if he _does_ show up, and he _is_ exactly who he says he is, and you end up falling madly in love over the course of this crazy 48-hour adventure, then _I_ get to say I told you so.”

Stan already sounds smug. Louis makes a face at him. “That’s never going to happen.”

He’s not sure what it says about him that he sort of hopes it does.

*

Harry had said to meet him by a certain coffee place, one that doesn’t take them too long to find. Louis isn’t sure if he’s happy about that, his heart is sort of hammering in his chest and he’s feeling a little nauseous. He’s not sure if he wants to see Harry waiting for him or be the one having to wait. Stan, as much as he’d been joking before, is quiet, probably feeling a little guilty about the turmoil he’s putting Louis through. Good. 

“I just wish I knew where we were going.” Louis says for what might be the tenth time. “This whole thing is mental enough without knowing how many hours I’ll be stuck on a flight next to a guy I know nothing about.”

Stan isn’t really paying much attention, just hums absently, and Louis frowns. “Stan.”

It’s one of those moments that happen quickly and in slow motion all at once.

“Louis?”

The voice is unfamiliar, and Louis blames his surprise for the slow shiver that rolls down his spine. His limbs feel slow, sluggish, when he turns around. “Harry?” He really can’t be held responsible for the way his voice goes sort of squeaky, nor for the way his fingers go lax around his phone, nearly dropping it.

Because. Um. _Hello_. 

Harry Styles is - He’s every bit as sweet looking as he had been on Tinder. He’s also _extremely_ hot. His hair’s a bit longer, Louis notices absently, and he is dressed in black, with pointy-toed boots and a yellow sweater tied around his shoulders. It’s a look that Louis usually associates with preppy guys, but it’s offset by arms that are covered in tattoos, and two pairs of sunglasses, neither of which are on Harry’s face. It’s ridiculous, and Louis can’t help but smile, because it absolutely works for Harry. And for Louis too, apparently. 

“Uh. Hi.” He manages, eloquently. “Hi. Yes. Yes I’m Louis.” 

Harry extends a hand, shaking it, and Louis is trying to not be endeared by him. He’s also failing quite spectacularly, if Stan’s none too subtle cough is any indication. “Oh. Um. This is my - this is Stan. He came to uh-” his brain sort of flatlines the moment their palms touch, and he feels like a complete idiot. Harry’s still smiling though.

“To make sure I wasn’t some catfish or serial killer?” He supplies, and Louis feels almost too embarrassed to nod. Harry doesn’t seem to mind though, just shakes Stan’s hand, though his eyes are only on him for a moment before they flick back to Louis. “Don’t worry. I’m not. Just a cereal killer.” He pauses, frowns. “That joke works better on paper. I meant like, cheerios.” He explains, and Louis thinks maybe Harry’s not the crazy person, _he_ is. Because that is one of the worst jokes he’s ever heard in his life and it only makes him want to go on this crazy adventure even more. 

“That was awful,” he says, because he’s never had a filter. He bites his lip, wonders if it’s too late to take it back, but Harry just grins and shrugs. 

“Maybe you should teach me some better jokes then.”

“I’m not sure 48 hours is enough to try and do that, mate,” he finds that he likes the way Harry smiles at him, likes that they’ve only just met and already there’s a bit of banter. 

“I’m up for the challenge if you are.” Even though Harry’s still smiling there’s something soft and sincere in his expression. “I mean that,” he says after a moment. “If you’ve changed your mind, then, no hard feelings. You can still walk away now. I know that this was a lot to ask, and I honestly wouldn’t hold it against you if you’d want to leave.”

Louis meets Stan’s eyes for a moment, before looking back at Harry. Harry who looks sweet and hopeful and is so incredibly gorgeous that Louis feels a bit like there has to be _something_ wrong with him, or else he wouldn’t have to ask random people off Tinder to go god-knows-where with him. There’s probably something equally wrong with Louis though, for actually wanting to. “No, yeah, I mean, I’ll come.”

(He prays that Harry won’t hear Stan’s whispered _I bet you will_. He elbows him anyway)

*

They’re waiting to get their bags checked in, and Harry is holding Louis’ elbow because he’s made him wear a blindfold (and Louis is wondering why his brain isn’t telling him to _abort mission, danger danger_ , but maybe it’s the soft pressure of Harry’s fingertips against his skin) so Louis can’t know where they’re going just yet. He assumes it’ll be a bit of a hassle once they finally get to the part where he has to hand over his passport to the airline personnel, but apparently Harry’s magic doesn’t just work on Louis, because soon enough he’s led towards a gate. It’s awkward, being blindfolded, but Harry is a very good guide, and they don’t even crash into anything on their way.

“So.” Louis says, when he’s gently made to sit down, wondering how many people are looking at him and drawing all kinds of conclusions. “When are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Harry’s laugh is soft, and Louis blames the fact that he’s lost his eyesight on how incredibly good it sounds. That’s a thing, right? Your other senses enhancing? It must be, because even when he’s blindfolded Louis knows exactly where Harry is. He sort of wants to reach out to check anyway, wants to give into that simple urge to touch him. “I was thinking I wouldn’t.” He says, but he doesn’t sound too certain.

“You’re going to make me wear a blindfold all throughout the flight?” It’s .. not very practical, for one. And, Louis has to admit, as much as he’s happy to go along with Harry’s quirks for now, he sees himself getting antsy at some point in the future. Especially if he’s on a plane for God-knows how long. “Please tell me we won’t be on a plane for the next fourteen hours, because as much as I’m looking forward to this, _looking_ is a verb for a reason.”

“It won’t be that long. And I could probably take your blindfold off soon. They’ll start boarding soon, so they’re bound to call out where we’re headed.” Harry muses. Louis can feel his hands creep down to the back of his head, though those fingers just card through his hair instead. He’d call him out for taking liberties but it’s sort of comforting. 

“How long is not that long?”

Harry hums. “Couple of hours, I reckon. I wouldn’t want to go halfway across the world for a first date.”

“Oh no, _that_ would have been preposterous,” Louis teases. “As opposed to this. Leading me blindfolded through an airport. I mean, you could’ve gone all the way, mate. Put in headphones as well. Then it’d be a complete surprise.” He hopes Harry understands that he’s joking, that he’s not actually put out by the lengths Harry had went to to surprise Louis. 

“I thought about it. But then we wouldn’t be able to talk, and I sort of like your voice.”

Louis bites on his cheek to keep from smiling. It’s such a corny thing to say, but he doesn’t doubt for a second that Harry means it. “I sort of liked your face. Wouldn’t mind seeing it again,” he retorts, and those fingers are back, undoing the knot on the back of his blindfold. There’s butterflies in Louis’ stomach, and he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, giving himself time to adjust to the light. Or maybe it’s just that he’s worried that when he looks back at Harry he’ll be disappointed. He couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous as he had remembered him, right?

When he finally looks up at him, Harry is smiling, and Louis resists the urge to pick the blindfold out of Harry’s hand and put it back on. He’s not as gorgeous as he remembered, he’s better, and it’s incredibly unfair. 

“Better?” Harry asks, and Louis makes a face, impulsively reaches out to poke a fingertip against his cheek.

“You have dimples. I mean, I knew you had dimples, I saw your pictures, but. They are ridiculous, Harold. I don’t know if I can stand looking at them for too long. You might just ruin me for other men.” He doesn’t really have the time to regret those words, to feel embarrassed, because Harry lets out this honking laugh that sort of reminds Louis of a duck. 

“Look at the sign then,” Harry says, gesturing towards the gate, where the staff is preparing to let passengers start boarding. 

_Tromsø._

Louis blinks. Harry looks hopeful, and Louis just blinks again. “I... don’t exactly know where that is,” he admits, sounding a bit apologetic. “I mean, Scandinavia, yeah. Which, makes sense, considering what you told me to pack. But-”

Harry still smiles, bless him. “It’s Norway. I, um, I know it’s sort of out there, or, like, random, I guess. But.”

Louis shrugs at that. “Everything about this has been a bit random,” he points out gently, watching the way Harry folds and unfolds his boarding pass. He reaches out, brushes his fingertip over a knuckle. “You’ll tear it if you’re not careful.” Harry stops fidgeting, but he doesn’t move his hands away from Louis’ touch. They stay like that, just for a second or so, before Louis regretfully pulls back. “Will you tell me why you chose Tromsø,” He’s probably completely mangling the pronunciation, if the twitch of Harry’s lips is any indication, “or is that part of the surprise?”

There’s a brief moment of silence, of Harry looking torn, before Louis reaches out again, squeezes his hand. “I don’t need to know. You can keep it a surprise if you want.” And, because he wants Harry to know how much he means it. “I trust you.”

It’s odd, because he’s only known him for about an hour, and most of that time he’s been blindfolded, but he does trust Harry. It might prove to be a mistake, but with the way Harry smiles at him at his words, it’s a chance Louis is willing to take.

They board not soon after, and while Louis isn’t a massive fan of flying he is no match for Harry, who seems to be a very nervous flier, almost on the verge of becoming ill the moment the plane starts moving down the runway. Louis tries not to think of how easy it is to touch him, how the moment he sees the twitch of his brow his fingers automatically slip into Harry’s. He keeps his eyes trained forward, on the safety instructions that are playing onscreen, as Harry holds onto his hand, all throughout their ascent.

It’s only a three and a half hour trip, but Louis has never been able to sit still for long, even with someone as lovely (and miserable) as Harry next to him. He’s eager to draw him into conversation, both to keep himself entertained and to keep Harry from freaking out too badly about flying. Over the course of the flight they learn things about each other, getting the basics out of the way. They talk about their siblings, their jobs (both of them currently not in their dream job, although Harry admits that the salary is nice, as is the chance to take his holidays whenever he wants them), their hobbies. The usual, really, and Louis knows that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but conversation flows easily, even if they don’t really hit on any difficult subjects. It’s typical first date stuff, except that this time he’s going to be spending 48 hours with a stranger, rather than just going for a pint. He’s happy about his (or Stan’s) decision so far though.

Harry is the one to reach for Louis’ hand when they descend. _Yeah_ , Louis thinks, _definitely happy_.

*

According to his phone, they arrive around four thirty in the afternoon (their phones having automatically adjusted to the difference in timezone), and Louis snuggles in his coat, happy to follow Harry out of the airport and towards a taxi. With nothing to do except exchange money they’d been quick to get out. Louis sort of admires that, how well everything seems to have been planned. Especially in such a short period of time. It’s a welcome change from how he is used to planning his holidays.

Despite having just been sat on his arse for over three hours, Louis is grateful to be sat down again in the cab, mainly because it beats being outside, in the cold that he’s yet to get used to. They’re a bit quiet, both glancing out of the window as they make their way to wherever Harry’s planning to take him.

It turns out to be a bed and breakfast, just a short drive away from the airport, and within ten minutes they’ve made it to the centre of the city, and the place they’ll be staying for the next two nights. Harry, a true gentleman, even picks up Louis’ bag as they make their way inside.

Everything goes smoothly, right up until the moment that they enter their room, and Harry comes to a full stop in front of him. Louis pretty much walks straight into him, his head colliding with Harry’s back, and he manages a confused “Oof.” 

One that’s answered with “Shit.”

Louis blinks, takes a step backwards, before ducking under Harry’s arm to look at whatever’s caused him to curse.

Stan would laugh, Louis is sure. Because in front of them, a true cliche, is a bed. Just the _one_ bed, and although it looks incredibly comfortable, Harry is rigid at his side. 

“Got plans, do you?” Louis teases, but it’s not until he lightly pinches Harry’s hip that the other moves. It’s a helpless gesture, his hand just hovering in mid air before he turns to look at him, and -- is Harry _blushing_? 

“I swear I didn’t-” he starts, and Louis chuckles.

“Relax. I didn’t think you’d be that presumptuous.” Harry doesn’t exactly smile, but he does look a little less nauseated - which, Louis would almost take offense. “D’you wanna go down and see if we can get another room?”

Harry nods, pauses. “We should, shouldn’t we?”

They definitely should. They’ve only known each other for a couple of hours. Louis definitely doesn’t want Harry to think that he’s easy. But at the same time, he’s shared beds with his mates plenty of times. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. So he shrugs. “The view’s good,” he wanders further inside the room, turns back towards Harry. “Both out there and in here.” He winks, exaggerated, and Harry finally laughs. 

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he says, and Louis falls back on the bed, spreads out his limbs.

“Does it look like I’m uncomfortable?”

*

They decide to head out for a quick dinner, after they’ve taken the time to wash up after the plane ride. Harry keeps checking for the time, but Louis is content to let him have his little secrets, even if it means he ends up shoving the last of his food in his mouth when it’s a quarter to seven and Harry insists they have to leave. 

Louis insists that he should pay, and Harry looks torn again, but Louis gestures towards the time, and Harry clearly doesn’t have time to argue. So he ends up paying (trying not to flinch at the fact that Tromsø is apparently quite a bit more expensive than London), and then hurrying through the dark towards the quay. It’s not until Louis spots the boat that he realizes just where they are headed. 

_Arctic Explorer - Northern lights cruise_ , it reads, and it’s Louis’ turn to come to a full stop this time. At least Harry doesn’t crash into him, though he does look at him curiously (and a little hurriedly). “Jesus.” Louis manages, suddenly glad for the mittens and hat and scarf that Harry insisted they needed to bring when they went out for dinner. “This might be the most romantic date I’ve ever been on.”

Harry dimples.

They make their way onboard, towards the front deck, where they’re greeted with blankets, that Louis happily snuggles into once they’ve found a place. He’s got his wrapped around him and Harry, and if that means that they’re pressed close together, well, then that’s just an added bonus. “It’s a four hour trip,” Harry says softly into his ear, as other passengers are welcomed and find their own places to sit. “I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights. Is this - I know I planned all of this without asking you, but, I hope it’s okay.”

“Four hours on a boat, snuggled up with you, seeing one of the most incredible sights in the world?” Louis chuckles. “I think I’ll manage.”

It’s strange, because all of this could be inherently romantic, but Louis doesn’t feel pressured in the slightest. Everything about Harry is just comfortable. He’s here, leaned against him, not because he’s trying to keep warm (though it _is_ cold and he is more than grateful for the thermal suits that are provided once they make their way onto open water), but because it seems only natural to be in each other’s space. Louis is pretty sure that this would be a perfect moment for Harry to make a move on him if he wanted to, but Harry doesn’t try anything. He just listens to the guide that explains about the science of the northern lights, about the legends and traditions surrounding them. They get hot chocolate and cake, and for a while everything is dark and cozy, and Louis thinks that even if they wouldn’t get to see the lights, he’d still consider this the best date he’s ever been on.

He doesn’t even notice, at first, that it’s getting lighter, until there’s a gasp from someone a few seats over, and he suddenly notices the faint green streaking through the sky. There’s a thrill he feels inside his stomach, amplified by the way Harry takes his hand, and despite the fact that their skin is separated by two pairs of gloves, Louis still feels overwhelmed.

He looks up at the sky, his head rested on Harry’s shoulder, thinking that he is too small to take in something this huge, this magnificent. He almost wills himself to appreciate it, thinks _I must remember this_ , but with the way Harry is pressed up to him, looking cold and stunned and _beautiful_ , Louis has a hard time paying attention at first.

There’s just something fragile about this, about being here, under this giant sky that comes to life, colours dancing and waving their way through the dark. Louis isn’t sure when it happens, when he becomes enraptured by it, but he finds himself teary eyed, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough that it hurts. 

Four hours seemed like a huge amount of time at the start, but it’s over in a flash, and Louis feels something ache inside of him, feels emotional and sad and happier than he’s ever been in his life, all at the same time. He sniffs, brushes his gloved hand past his eyes, embarrassed but also not, because Harry is looking at him with the sweetest expression he’s ever seen on anyone. 

Louis breathes out shakily. “Thank you.” It’s barely more than a whisper, anything else simply seeming too _much_ for what has just happened. 

Harry brushes the last of Louis’ tears from his face and just smiles.

*

It’s almost midnight by the time they’re back at the bed and breakfast, and where Louis had been nervous about sharing a bed before (even though he’d said he was comfortable, Harry had still requested another room, only to hear that none were available), he is too tired to really care anymore. By the time he’s brushed his teeth and slipped in some pajamas, he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, and he doesn’t even flinch at Harry’s leg brushing against his ankle.

In fact, Louis’ feet are freezing, and Harry’s leg is decidedly not, and it’s easy, so easy, to shift until they’re touching. Harry hisses, but doesn’t move away, and Louis falls asleep with a smile on his face.

The smile turns into a frown when Harry has the audacity to wake him up at eight in the morning, and it’s solely the fact that he’s tired and grumpy that keeps him from realizing he’s all but pressed up to Harry’s back until the other has shifted away to turn off the alarm. 

“Why,” he grouses, and Harry just laughs. Louis opens one eye, then immediately closes it, grabbing for a pillow and whacking Harry around the face with it. “The fuck are you this pretty, this early in the morning.” 

Harry makes a sound, and then there’s quick fingers jabbing at his sides. Louis shrieks. Twists, and almost gets caught in the sheets, trying to escape Harry’s fingers. “Okay!” He laughs. “Okay, I’m up! You win!” He manages to extract himself from the bedding, pouts at Harry, who looks far too smug for Louis’ liking. He glances towards the pillow again, but before he can make a move, Harry does, and Louis suddenly finds himself pinned to the bed, Harry’s fingers wrapped around his wrists, his knees on either side of Louis’ hips.

Which is .. well.

They blink at each other, and Harry blushes, letting go and moving off the bed before Louis can say anything. It’s almost a shame.

*

Despite what happened earlier, breakfast isn’t awkward in the slightest. It’s like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and maybe that’s true. Maybe this just isn’t awkward, because Louis has to admit that he wouldn’t mind if Harry tried some of that again, sometime soon. He’s not quite sure how to tell him that though, and before he knows it, he’s being shepherded out of the bed and breakfast, already en route to their next adventure.

As happy as Louis is about the fact that Harry planned this entire trip for them, as grateful as he is for not just the money he’s spent but also the fact that he seems to want to give Louis a date to remember, he wouldn’t mind being alone with him for longer than just the amount of time they’ve been asleep. So when they arrive at the site of their excursion, to find a 4x4 waiting for them, he sincerely hopes no one else will be in the car with them.

They’re not that lucky, but as it turns out there’s only five of them, not counting the guide, so although they’re in the same car, it’s still intimate. Louis is content to rest his head against Harry’s shoulder for the first part of the ride, their guide, Mariell, telling them they’re headed to the Fjords of Kvaløya, also known as the Whale Island. She tells them they’re going to see arctic beaches, mountains, frozen lakes, and that there’s even an opportunity to take a one hour husky ride through the snow. Louis only has to look at Harry to know that _of course_ he’s planned to take him on the ride, and he impulsively presses his lips to his cheek.

Norway is absolutely beautiful, and although Louis isn’t usually the kind of person to take a lot of pictures (he prefers being in the moment, taking it all in), he does take out his phone to snap a few shots here and there. If Harry ends up being in those pictures more often than not, it’s absolutely coincidental.

After a lovely lunch on the arctic beach, they’re being taken to a small village, where they’ll either have the chance to take a break and hike around a bit or go on the husky ride. What Louis had wished for, the chance to be alone with Harry, finally seems to be coming true, because although there are a few more people going on the ride (from other excursions), it’s just the two of them on a small sled, buried underneath blankets. Harry’s sat behind him, and Louis swears he can feel butterflies when Harry’s arm wraps around his waist, his head against Harry’s chest. 

Huskies are _fast_ , much faster than Louis had expected, and he’s grateful for the arm around him, for the blankets that are protecting their bodies from the wind and the snow that whips up around them. It’s exhilarating, and despite the fact that Louis is pretty sure his nose is never going to defrost again, he can’t help but feel like he never wants this to end.

They take a break halfway through the ride, and Louis feels his legs wobble when he gets out of the sled, is grateful for the hand that Harry offers. He doesn’t let go of it, even when they’ve both gotten out, and for a few minutes they just walk around, sipping hot chocolate and feeling content to just be together. 

Harry gently squeezes his hand then, and Louis looks up at him. “Enjoying yourself so far?” Harry asks, and Louis almost wants to laugh because it feels like it’s so obvious, feels like he’s been grinning like some sort of fool for what feels like forever now.

“Yeah,” he says instead, and his voice comes out soft. “It kind of doesn’t feel real? Being here, on this amazing date. I think you might’ve spoiled me for all other men, Harry Styles.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out far too sincere for that, and Harry glances away, but Louis can still see the start of a smile.

The way back is just as beautiful and exhilarating, all the more so because this time Louis is holding Harry’s hand.

*

After a wonderful day, Louis is cold and tired but happy, glad for the short reprieve that he gets when Harry is in the shower and Louis is curled up on their bed in some joggers and a hoodie. He’s absently scrolling through his social media when a message from Stan comes through.

_Stan: What time am I picking you up from the airport tomorrow?_

The warmth left behind by the shower he’d taken earlier is replaced by something cold and heavy in his stomach. Louis swallows. It’s not like he had forgotten that this trip with Harry was only a 48 hour thing, it’s just .. 

Louis sort of doesn’t want it to end. 

He doesn’t want to spend his night counting down the hours, knows he has a tendency to do that, to remind himself that things have an expiration date, and that he needs to hold onto the moment, thereby exactly preventing himself from doing just that. This date with Harry had been a wonderful experience in that sense, because as he hadn’t been the one to plan it he’d sort of been forced to let go of all his expectations and just immersed himself in the moment. He’d let go, more than he’s normally used to doing, relinquished control, and he really doesn’t want to go home and go back to his everyday life. 

Because - where does Harry fit into that? Yes, they get along brilliantly, and also, he’s really fucking hot and Louis is beyond attracted to him, but, how will that translate to everyday life? Will things still be as magical when they’re back in the mundane world, when there’s jobs and commitments and they might only be able to go for a pint or a movie?

It’s not that he thinks he won’t enjoy doing those things with Harry. It’s more, will Harry enjoy being around him, when Louis isn’t as relaxed as he is now? Will he be okay with Louis being the one in control, will he even _like_ what Louis can come up with? 

He doesn’t know him that well, after all. He doesn’t know if this is normal for Harry, to plan everything and expect his dates to go along. Maybe Harry is a thrillseeker and Louis won’t be enough for him. 

_Louis: I think we’re supposed to land at half five_

_Stan: ok I’ll be there._

_Stan: How’s the date so far? Glad to see you haven’t been axe murdered yet. Cassie has been on my case about it._

_Louis: still in one piece. Harry’s .. this date’s a lot._

_Stan: ??_

_Stan: I’m sorry man_

_Stan: hey, at least in 24h it’s over and you never have to see him again if you don’t want to_

Louis snorts. That is pretty much the opposite of what he wants, but he doesn’t really have the energy to explain right now, doesn’t really want to share what this trip has been like with Stan because that requires coming to terms with the fact that some things are already over, that they’re history, something he can never relive again. It’s dumb, he knows, because there’s still twenty four hours with Harry, and he wants to enjoy them, not worry about what happens afterwards. 

But he can’t help it. It would _suck_ , if Harry decided he didn’t want to see him again. 

*

“How tired are you?” Harry asks, when he’s out of the shower and getting dressed. Louis is doing his best not to look at him, fidgets with his phone even though there’s not too much of interest going on there. Certainly nothing that’s as enticing as seeing Harry half naked.

He shrugs. “Eh. Not tired as much as, sort of overwhelmed? I don’t know. Like, we’ve seen so much today that my brain sort of feels like it has to process everything?” He’s not sure that even makes sense. “Why?”

He looks up at Harry, who is currently wearing these ridiculous grandpa pants and loafers, and who is still naked from the waist up. His chest is covered in tattoos and Louis resists the urge to go over and lick at the laurels on his hips. Instead he focuses on the small but clearly visible frown on his face. “I’ve not planned anything for tonight,” he says slowly, “there’s a couple things I thought we could do, but not if you’re too tired. We can just stay in and watch TV, if you’d rather?”

Maybe it’s just Louis’ interpretation, but Harry sounds a bit disappointed at that, and he bites his lip, glances down at the bedspread for a moment. “What would you like to do?” He asks, putting his phone away and sitting up a bit straighter. “I mean. Yeah, we could watch TV. But, also, we’re in Norway. We could watch TV anywhere.”

Harry nods slowly, pulls a shirt over his head, messes up his curls afterwards. “We don’t have to,” he says, and he sounds almost careful.

Louis shakes his head, this time resisting the urge to throw a pillow at Harry’s face. “You’re saying that like you think I hate everything we’ve done so far. This has been the most ridiculous and wonderful date I’ve ever been on in my life.”

Harry looks at him, a little quizzically. “You seemed sort of sad,” he points out, and Louis winces a bit. 

How can he put into words what he’s feeling? This worry and fear and the knowledge that soon this will all be a memory? “You’ve ever heard of post concert depression?” He asks softly. Harry frowns, but nods. “This sort of feels like that. Except that this trip isn’t even over yet, so I shouldn’t be feeling that way. But it will be over soon and I just-”

“You don’t want it to?”

“I don’t want it to.”

Harry sits on the bed with him, looking as though he wants to reach out and wrap Louis up in a hug. Louis would very much like that, but he’s also 75% sure that if he does he might end up crying a little bit, so he doesn’t move. “Is it because of everything we’ve done?” He sounds almost shy, and insecure, and now Louis definitely feels like crying.

“I mean. Partially? Because, like, I don’t know how you’re ever going to top this date, you’ve set the bar pretty high.” Louis manages a smile, and shrugs, picking at the bedspread. “But also, I think it’s mostly just you. I - fuck, I thought you were crazy, when you messaged me, but-” he lets out a soft sound. “I’ve really enjoyed this date with you. More than I thought I would. And I’m sort of, not worried, but, skeptical? I guess. Because how is it going to work when we’re back home? What if I’m just, boring to you?”

The expression on Harry’s face sort of makes Louis feel like an idiot. Because he’s looking at him as though he hasn’t ever been more fond of anyone in his life, and also like Louis has absolutely exasperated him. “You wanna know why I messaged you?” Harry says, and Louis frowns.

“Because you thought I was hot?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “No. I mean, yes, of course, absolutely. But, I could’ve just asked you out for a pint.”

Louis nods. “Because you wanted to go on an amazing vacation and you didn’t want to go alone?”

This time there’s a smile on Harry’s face, but it’s sort of wistful. “I mean. I _did_ , but, also no.” He shifts closer, glances down at his lap before looking up at Louis again. “Most of the people I’ve dated flaked out on me pretty fast. They’re keen at first, but, after a while, I’m just too quirky, or something? I don’t know. Maybe I’m too boring, actually. I like cooking and I love just staying in and watching films. I’m not big on going to parties or drinking myself into a stupor. A perfect night, for me, is on the couch, under a blanket, with someone I love and maybe a cat in my lap.”

Louis bites his lip, doesn’t want to interrupt him, even if it is to tell him that that sounds absolutely wonderful.

“Part of why I asked you to do this was because I thought, maybe you’d be more impressed with me if you saw that I could be cool and adventurous and up for anything. It’s not like that _isn’t_ me, I’ve had an absolute blast with you so far, and I _love_ traveling. That’s definitely part of my personality as well, it’s just, I’m not always like that.”

“What’s the other part?” Louis asks quietly.

“I sort of wanted to know if I was worth taking a risk for.” It’s barely more than a whisper. Harry scrapes his throat. “I mean, I know that this doesn’t guarantee that you won’t flake out on me after a while, but, I’m tired of putting my energy into people and ending up getting ghosted or broken up with. So, I convinced myself, 48 hours, that’s gotta be enough to know whether or not it’s got potential.” He pauses. “It’s a big leap of trust, going abroad with someone, so it means a lot that you thought I was worth the effort.”

Louis swallows. “48 hours is definitely enough,” he starts, because he knows that he has to tell him that, funny story, it wasn’t actually _him_ that thought Harry was worth the risk, but if he doesn’t preface that with something else he’s worried that Harry will bolt. “I mean, we’re barely a day and a half in and I’m already dreading saying goodbye to you at the airport tomorrow.” Harry smiles, and Louis reaches out, presses his finger into a dimple. “Those people that you’ve gone out with that have ghosted you or dumped you are absolute tits. Morons, if you ask me. You - Harry, you’re absolutely worth taking a chance on.” He takes a breath. “But.”

Harry’s face falls so quickly that Louis instinctively reaches out to cover his fist with his hand. “But,” he continues, “in the spirit of honesty, it wasn’t exactly me who said yes to you. My best mate got hold of my phone and sent you all my information, and when I showed up at the airport I figured you were probably going to be a catfish or a con man or something equally ridiculous. At best, I figured you’d stand me up. But you didn’t. And then I met you, and that - that _was_ me, taking that risk on you. And I’m really glad I did.”

Harry’s frown has slowly disappeared during Louis’ words, but Louis doesn’t let go of his hand, though he relaxes a bit when Harry’s fingers unclench and he can tangle them with his. “I really like you Harry. I can’t guarantee you that nothing will change, that all our days or dates will be as magical as these past two have been, hell, I can’t even guarantee that whatever’s between us will turn into something real. But whatever happens, I will _never_ regret taking a chance on you. And if you want it, I’m very much looking forward on taking you on a date when we’re back home.”

Harry’s smile is worth everything, as is the shy but hopeful way he looks at Louis. “If you want, you could take me on a date right now?”

As much as part of Louis wants to do something simple, like maybe go to see a movie, they _are_ in Norway, and Harry _had_ said how much he’d always wanted to see the Northern lights. Louis isn’t looking forward to spending time with strangers though, so he contemplates for a second. “Is there somewhere we could go that we’d be alone, and still get to see the Northern lights? Maybe we can take some food, probably a blanket if it’s possible, because I don’t want us to get cold.” As much as he likes the idea of being pressed close to Harry he doesn’t want him to end up with pneumonia. 

Harry is _blushing_ , and Louis wonders if he was thinking the same thing he was. “There’s a lake not too far from here. About a twenty minute walk, maybe? It’s frozen over and we should be able to see the lights from there.” He says. “There might be a few people around, but, we could find a place just for the two of us.”

Louis grins. “That sounds perfect.”

*

After a short stop at a supermarket, they make their way to Prestvannet Lake, an uphill walk that takes them past a couple of houses and even a primary school. The way is well lit and Louis is skeptical just how well they’ll be able to see the Northern lights with all the light pollution, but he is happy to be proven wrong, when the lake itself is devoid of anything except natural light.

It’s still too early for the Northern lights to appear, so they walk around the lake for a bit, find a nice spot to sit where they share sandwiches and drinks. There are people skiing in the distance, but no one is near enough to make it feel like they’re anything but alone. 

Louis watches the sky grow darker, sees a few people headed out onto the lake, and while he would usually be the first one to get on the ice, he can see that Harry is a bit hesitant. It looks solid enough, but it could be deceiving, with the snow covering the ice. So he is more than happy to be sat here on a bench, eating a simple dinner and basking in a comfortable silence. 

“It’s weird,” he says eventually. “I know we’re on a date right now, but I don’t feel like I have to impress you?” It doesn’t come out the way he means it, but thankfully Harry doesn’t take offense, just snorts at him.

“I can’t tell if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult.”

Louis nudges him. “Definitely a compliment. It just feels comfortable? Like we’ve known each other forever. But not boring. I’m still so excited to get to know you, but it’s nice that we can just _be_ , without having to, like. I don’t know. I tend to get loud, when I’m trying to impress people, and it’s nice that I don’t feel that way with you. I’m not worried about you getting to know who I really am.” Louis wasn’t great at being vulnerable, but after Harry had reacted so well to his sadness earlier, he knows that he doesn’t have to worry about letting Harry know what was really going on inside of his head.

Harry hums, wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders, without checking to see if that’s okay. Louis smiles. “I like what I’ve gotten to see so far,” he says, and Louis swears he can feel butterflies. 

“Me too,” is all he says.

They stay silent then, pressed against one another, just taking in the beautiful surroundings. The mountains, the lake, snow sparkling in the moonlight, and then, after an hour or so of sitting on the bench, the Northern lights.

It’s just as spectacular as it had been the night before, and with Harry’s hand in his and his arm around his shoulders, Louis doesn’t think that there’s a better way to spend his night.

*

Just as the night before, they get back to the bed and breakfast feeling cold and exhausted, and just as the night before they fall into bed together without a second thought. Louis presses his cold feet against Harry’s leg again, but this time, in response, Harry just wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s chest in response to his unspoken _is this alright_ , and they fall asleep just like that.

This morning Louis is the first to wake up, and he basks in the warmth and comfort of the moment, Harry’s arm still around his waist, his fingers twitching against his back every so often. He looks beautiful, young and innocent and all the things that Louis wants to protect and cherish forever. He can barely resist the urge to brush his fingertips over Harry’s face, but he doesn’t want to wake him, not even when that means the seconds of their time together are slowly ticking away.

It still makes him a little sad, the prospect of having to say goodbye, but at the same time, after their conversation yesterday, Louis feels hopeful. They haven’t even kissed yet, but they’ve admitted that there’s a mutual attraction, a desire to see where this could lead. There’s potential, and Louis is excited, more than nervous, about what will happen once they’re home.

He will miss Norway though. The sights, the people (even if he had been mostly focused on Harry, it hadn’t escaped his notice just how nice the people were), but most of all, the chance to experience new things in a way he hadn’t ever expected. Maybe, he thinks, they can do this again someday. Take a quick trip somewhere. It doesn’t have to be anything grand or expensive. 

They don’t even have to go anywhere, though, because despite everything he’s seen and experienced over the past two days, the best part about this trip, easily, was being with Harry. Louis will be just as happy spending a weekend in Harry’s apartment, watching TV. 

After what feels like a lifetime, Harry finally starts to wake up. Usually Louis would look away, would be embarrassed to be caught staring at him, but there’s just something about Harry that makes it impossible to do that. So he drinks in every moment, from the very first flutter of his eyelashes to the smile that stretches his lips when he realizes who he has woken up with. There’s definite butterflies in Louis’ stomach now, as well as an overwhelming desire to kiss him.

“Hi,” he whispers, finally giving in to the urge to brush his fingertips over Harry’s face, from the stubble on his chin to the feathery edge of his eyebrow. “Sleep okay?”

Harry turns his head to rub it into the pillow, smothers a yawn there before looking back at Louis. “Mm,” he rumbles, making no move to pull away, unlike the previous morning. “‘s easy to fall asleep with you.”

Louis snorts. “Did you just call me boring?” He teases, and the confused-and-then-embarrassed look on Harry’s face is _everything_. 

“Comfy,” he insists, nuzzling in closer, and Louis bites his lip to keep from making a sound that he can’t be sure isn’t a squee. 

“Not much better, Haz,” he teases, letting his fingers brush through Harry’s hair, the other shifting just enough so he’s half on top of Louis, his cheek resting against his chest. “Oy. Am I a pillow?”

Harry grunts, presses a kiss to his chest. “Yes.” He decides, and flops back down. “Pet my hair, please.”

Who is Louis to say no to such a polite request?

After about half an hour of what Louis’ brain giddily refers to as cuddling, Harry finally seems awake enough to pull away. He looks embarrassed for about half a second or so, until Louis quickly darts in and presses a kiss to his lips. Then he just looks shy and pleased.

Louis feels his cheeks warming a bit, but he doesn’t regret it, so he just shrugs. “Got tired of waiting for you to make the first move,” he says, braver than he feels. 

Harry smiles at that, the sight making Louis’ heartbeat kick up a notch. It’s even worse when Harry slides a hand to cup the back of his neck, presses their lips together in something light but determined. It’s a first kiss as first kisses should be, chaste but full of unexplored desire, and Louis is man enough to admit that it leaves him a little breathless.

“That was nice,” he says softly, and Harry chuckles. 

“Very,” he agrees.

*

As much as it sort of feels like time stops when he’s with Harry, they end up having to pack up in a bit of a hurry, as they’re meant to leave the room at ten thirty. Their plane departs a couple of minutes before 3 this afternoon, but they’ve planned to make it to the airport by one. It leaves them with just enough time to enjoy breakfast in a small, cozy looking café on the Størgata, the main pedestrian street, and a few minutes to browse some of the gift shops. Louis ends up buying Harry these fancy candles when he sees him eyeing them, even though Harry insists that they’re too expensive or pretty to burn. They _are_ very pretty, with renderings of the Northern lights on them, which is all the more reason to buy them. Harry eventually concedes, but only if he gets to buy Louis something in return. That something ends up being a mug, with pictures of Tromsø and the Northern lights. “For your morning tea,” he says, and Louis brushes a quick kiss over his cheek. 

“You spoil me,” he says.

Harry smiles. “Get used to it.”

Louis thinks he’d very much like that. 

They end up having to run to catch their bus, lean against each other once they fall down into their seats, breathing heavily. Harry had carefully wrapped the mug he’d bought for Louis in one of his scarves, and Louis had tucked it away in his bag, trying not to think that this definitely meant they’d have to see each other at least one more time. 

The ride to the airport doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes, even with traffic, and it’s not until they’re inside of the airport that Louis feels some of that sadness returning. Time is really running out now, and where he’d usually drop off his bags and spend his time wandering around the shops, right now he just wants to sit down at the gate and be with Harry.

Harry doesn’t seem to have too much of an issue with that. He’d already bought a few gifts at the souvenir shop, and neither of them need anything more than a bottle of water, so once they’ve made it through customs and checked in their bags, they make their way to the gate, to those uncomfortable airport chairs that seem designed just so people can’t fall asleep. There are hard armrests that prevent Louis from cuddling up to Harry, and he fidgets a bit, not wanting to come across needy, not when this physical intimacy is still so new between them. Harry notices though, and they end up simply holding hands, even when neither of them really feels like talking.

It’s odd, how Louis doesn’t feel the need to fill that silence. How it’s just nice, to be here, to watch the hustle and bustle of the airport, hear the announcements and wonder about other people here, where they’re going, what their story is. He knows that time is running out, but it doesn’t feel like he needs to say everything that has yet to be said. 

There’s time.

“Hey,” he squeezes Harry’s hand, smiles when Harry hums in reply, having shifted to lean his head on Louis’ shoulder. “Give me your number.”

“Number?”

Louis nods. “So I can call you, when we’re back.” He doesn’t feel the nerves that he usually does when he’s asking someone for their number, knows that Harry will give it to him, that they’ll be friends, at least. But he knows that they both want more, isn’t cocky when he says that he can tell Harry is into him. He’s been nothing but respectful and sweet over the course of this trip, but it’s there, in everything. The way he looks at him, like he can’t think of a happier prospect than getting to know him. The heat, too, though it’s covered by softness, most of the time. 

“You want to call me?”

Louis shifts to look at him, blinking incredulously because Harry actually sounded surprised just now. “Um, yeah?” He falters. “Do you not want me to?”

Harry bites his bottom lip to keep from smiling. It’s adorable, but Louis is more focused on why the hell Harry seems to think that he isn’t keen on keeping in touch. “I do,” Harry rushes to say, “I just-”

“Thought I wasn’t serious when I said I wanted to take you out on a date when we were back home? That I really liked you?” Louis’ face softens when Harry blushes in response. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s not that I thought you were just being nice, or anything. I believe that you meant it. I just wasn’t sure if you still felt that way.”

Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I kissed you this morning.” He points out.

Harry blushes even more now. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else, though Louis can tell from the slight frown on his face that he wants to, is just searching for the words.

“Harry.” He takes his hand again, tangles their fingers. “I really like you. I know that we’re only just getting to know each other, but, so far, it’s been amazing. Whoever’s made you feel like you’re just a temporary option is an idiot. This, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this attracted to anyone after such a short time. And it’s not just physically, even though you’re ridiculously hot and just waking up next to you is enough to make my heart give out. But you’re also - you’re ridiculous. You’re funny and smart and a dork, and the thought of cuddling up with you and watching Netflix is making me want to squeal like a preteen girl.”

He makes a face. “Which isn’t meant to be sexist, by the way, my little sisters have a habit of trying to rupture my eardrums on a weekly basis. The point is, I’m very much into you. And I’m not the type to fall for someone, not this quickly. I haven’t been all over you this weekend because, well, I like to do things proper. I want a genuine connection, not just a quick shag. And when you told me people lose interest - the last thing I wanted you to think was that I would hump and then dump you.” Even he cringes at the expression, and he can’t help but smile when Harry giggles. “I love making you laugh. So please give me your number, so I can call you, and take you out, and make you laugh.” He’d feel embarrassed, or nervous, about putting it all on the line, but Harry looks so soft and pleased that Louis just feels warm and content.

He ends up with soft lips pressed to his and Harry’s number in his phone.

*

This time Louis doesn’t hesitate in taking Harry’s hand once they’re on the plane, and it’s not just because he remembers how nervous he’d been on the flight over. They keep holding hands, throughout the flight, even when that proves to be difficult when they’re eating lunch. It’s borderline ridiculous, but it’s also _so_ lovely. They don’t talk much, but they do share earbuds, listening to music and introducing each other to their favorite bands. They like a lot of the same music, and for a long time it feels like there’s no one in the world but them.

They land just before half past five, Louis’ stomach swooping, though he knows it’s little to do with the way the wheels of the plane have just touched the tarmac. He gives Harry’s hand one last squeeze, as they taxi to the gate, quietly thanks the airplane crew as they disembark. Their walk to the baggage claim is quiet, and for the first time, a little awkward.

“Is someone coming to pick you up?” Louis asks, checking his phone to see that Stan has messaged him that he’s waiting just outside of the baggage retrieval area. He’s sure that if he looked for him he’d be able to see him, but for now he just wants to look at Harry. 

Harry nods, takes Louis’ bag off the carousel, handing it to him before looking for his own. “Yeah,” he says absently. “Gems said she’d pick me up. She just texted that she’s stuck in traffic though, so it might be a bit.” 

Louis nods too, swallows. “My mate Stan told me he’d pick me up. He should be here already.” He says it just to have something to say, but Harry looks at him, just for a second or so.

“Oh. You can go, if you want?” 

It makes sense. Stan’s already here, parking’s expensive, he could head home, go and have a desperately needed shower to get the airplane stink off of him. Get reacquainted with his bed, because as comfortable as the one in the bed and breakfast had been it’s no match for his own room, his own mattress. It’s not like this is the last time he’ll ever see Harry. He’s probably going to call him tonight, just to find out if he’s gotten home safely. Not that he needs an excuse to call Harry, probably. 

But Louis doesn’t move. He just watches the bags slowly fill out the carousel, as though he’s looking for Harry’s bag, perhaps to return the favor and grab it off of the belt. “Do you um, fuck, this is awkward.” He laughs, but Harry doesn’t, and Louis feels that sadness ache inside of him again. He firmly pushes it down, takes a step towards Harry, until he’s next to him and he can brush his fingertips over the back of his hand. “I don’t really want to say goodbye.” He whispers.

Harry turns towards him, even though Louis can see that his bag is about to pass them by. “Me either,” he says softly.

“Do you, if you want, maybe we could do something?”

“Tonight?”

It’s not practical in the slightest. They’ve got people coming to pick them up. They’ve got bags and they probably both could use a shower. But, fuck it. They’ve only got one life and Louis doesn’t want to say no anymore, doesn’t want to miss out on any chances or experiences, because look what can happen. He has met the most wonderful boy, just by saying ‘why not’ instead of no. It was a risk well worth taking. “Now? We could go see a movie, if you want.”

He’s rewarded with the softest, most lovely smile. “Still don’t want this date to end?”

Louis smiles back. “Never.”

Harry slips his hand to the back of his neck, rests their foreheads together for a brief moment before dropping the softest kiss onto his lips. “Good. Me either.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, I would love to hear from you in the comments. You can also reblog this [moodboard](https://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/185497262848/in-a-sky-full-of-stars-be-my-northern-lights-its) on Tumblr and talk to me there! Thank you for reading!


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